Walking Tall Machine Gun Man
by Expression812
Summary: Dean observed his prisoner closely, watched him twitch and shift against his binds, relished the silence for the few moments that it would last. !Warning! Extremely graphic!


**A/N- Hi! So this is the longest one shot I've ever done. This came to me while watching the episode where Dean tortures Alistair after a bad day. It just hit me that they could have done a lot more with it. I mean the dialogue and acting were great, I just wasn't impressed with the lack of creativity they used in the way Dean actually tortured Alistair. This is my take on how it should have gone and my way of relieving my anger after a bad day. Oh, I stole the title from the Alice in Chains song "Rooster", If you've never heard it, you need go listen to it., like now! I have no beta, so any mistakes are mine.**

**Disclaimer- I do not own Supernatural or the characters involved, I just like taking them out for play dates.**

Alistair huffed a laugh when Dean slowly walked his cart across the cement floor, his head tilted to hood his eyes. Alistair observed his once pupil, took in his stance and drank the confidence the hell escape-y oozed. Dean slowly revealed the tools he'd brought; methodically rolling the dark cloth that hid the goodies from black eyes. Allistar swallowed the gathering saliva and caught Dean's eyes peaking out at him from the shadow of his brow; saw the sharp edge of fear partially hidden in the darkness. He laughed again.

"I'm sorry; this is a very serious, very emotional situation for you. I shouldn't laugh. It's just that, I mean, are they serious? They sent you to torture me?"

Dean turned his face from his cart, snagging a rusty iron machete from it in passing, and slowly walked to his charge. Dean smirked at the demon before him before turning his attention to the dulling blade of the knife.

"They Angels sent me in here for information, information that I care nothing about."

Dean ran his fingers up the arch of the knife observing the dirt that fell from the friction. The tone of the hunter's voice sent shivers up Alistair's spine and licked his lips.

"They want to know who's killing the Angels. You wouldn't know who that is, would you?"

Dean observed this prisoner closely, watched him twitch and shift against his binds, relished the silence for the few moments that it would last. He turned back to his cart, straightening his piles of tools, nails, hammers, pliers, and knives, checked the salt supply and ensured that he had another gallon of holy water. He straightened and clapped his hand together facing Alistair, shrugging, as all traces of fear leaked from his emerald eyes.

"Thought so, but hey, you never know what someone will say when scared." Dean slowly circled Alistair's star, observing the Devil's trap as he went. "Fear is like alcohol, makes you sloppy and forgetful. I understand, really."Alistair listened to Dean's voice as it moved behind him, grinning when he was in his line of sight once more. Dean returned to his cart, grabbed the can of spray paint off the second shelf. "I mean, seeing me, now, like this," he gestured to himself and smiled, only it was twisted, almost maniacal looking. "It has to be hard for you, the one that got away so to speak. Must bring back all sorts of memories." Dean followed the chalk circle, painting over it in black, pausing when he reached his starting point, front and center. "I know it does for me."

Dean stepped into the circle he just drew and started tracing the star and sigils. "Chalk, is just too untrustworthy." He said in explanation. Alistair gathered his courage and laughed again.

"Come on, Dean-o. Who would want to escape this? Dean Winchester's come back tour; it's a sight to see."

Once the trap was once again complete, he barked a bitter chuckle and shook his head, putting the paint back and grabbing the machete once again.

"You know what? For a while after Hell, I missed this. The feel of the blade in my hand, never having to worry about if the person in front of me truly deserved it, just being able to carve into warm flesh. Being able to create a picture worthy for the refrigerator on someone that I knew wouldn't be there if they didn't deserve it." Dean sighed and stepped into Alistair's personal space. "Granted, they maybe didn't deserve _all_ that they got, but life is never really fair, is it?"

Alistair's head fell forward and he drooled on himself, fanning boredom.

"I'm sorry," Dean apologized as he teased Alistair's abdomen with the knife's tip, drawing swirls across his chest. "I'm a little shell shocked. I've been dreaming of this moment, planning, re-planning, agonizing over every little detail and then this just falls into my lap. I have you, right in front of me and I'm not sure where to start."

Alistair smirked, "Apparently, you didn't take good enough notes then, Grasshopper."

Dean smiled slightly and bit his bottom lip in reply. "I think we'll start with that smart ass mouth of yours." The hunter edged closer and pressed the blade of the knife at the corner of the demon's mouth at an angle. "Keep quiet now, or your demon friends may here you scream like the little girl you are." Dean patted the cheek opposite the blade before plunging the sharpness into the skin of Alistair's cheek and with a slight increase of pressure, the knife bit clean through muscle.

Dean felt the tip of his weapon hit Alistair's gums before he started the slow sawing motion, jaggedly ripping his cheek apart until he hits jaw bone. The demon screamed, stretching his mouth open as wide as it would go, actually making it easier for Dean to slice what he wanted, at the angle he wanted. The hunter drew the blade from the right side of Alistair's face and moved to repeat his performance on the left, the demon's mouth still ajar.

Once the permanent grin was carved into the demons face, Dean stepped back. "Well, don't you just have the prettiest smile?"

Dean moved his hand from Alistair's forehead, where he had held the demon's head against the iron supporting him, and his head sagged, his chin rubbing at his chest. Dean returned to his cart, taking the jug of holy water and dousing the knife with it.

"Don't want facial tissue to get all mixed up with your others." Dean said, washing the blood from his weapon. Then he paused. "You know, we wouldn't want those cuts to get infected either."

Dean went to back to Alistair, returned to the demon's personal space and hissed, "You might want to brace yourself," he grinned that twisted, evil grin again. "This may burn a bit."

The hunter once again turned Alistair's face sky ward and proceeded to dump the blessed substance into the jagged tears across the demon's face and into his mouth. Alistair screamed at the water's contact, his skin smoking and bleeding even more heavily. Dean stayed close to the monster in front of him, holding his chin as it gasped for breathe, watching the pain ripple over its stolen human features. Alistair had barely recovered before he spoke.

"And… what do the Angels… think… of this…little change in… plan?" the demon questioned.

Dean smirked again before pushing the monster's face from his hand, his eyes lighting at the way Alistair's head bounced of the iron behind him, before sagging back against his chest. Dean stayed where he was, so close to the demon that he could almost taste the false bravado that the man before him was desperately trying to piece together. Dean inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the monster's sudden fear, watching as it realized that he'd underestimated Dean. This made the hunter smile a bit more, proud that after 40 years in Hell, his once teacher still didn't realize just how much Dean Winchester had to offer.

"The Angels wanted someone to do their dirty work, so they wouldn't stain their white robs or bend their halos." Dean shrugged. "Why should they care how I do it? You don't know who's killing their brothers, end of story. Not my concern anymore."

Dean put his hand to the gashes in Alistair's face, slowly pushing the tip of his finger in between the bleeding layers, poking the demon's teeth before withdrawing. Alistair grunted as Dean took back his finger and was left panting. The hunter wiped the blood and muscle bits from his finger on Alistair's shirt before turning away from him.

"My only concern is you." Dean finished, as he sorted through his tools once more, looking for what he wanted in the pile of metal.

"How sweet." Alistair scoffed.

Dean turned and smiled at the demon, returning to his charge once again, a hammer and two iron construction nails in hand.

"You know, some would be thrilled to have one on one time with me." Dean teased. "I would enjoy it, if I were you."

Alistair snorted and the grimaced as Dean touched the nail to Alistair's left arm, digging it in slightly to find the small space between the radius and the ulna.

"The famous Dean Winchester has a fan club?" Alistair choked out once his breath returned.

Dean once again smirked and bit into his bottom lip. "Something like that."

Dean drove the nail through the demon's arm; hit it with the hammer until it was in as far as it could go. The hunter, satisfied that this caused Alistair enough discomfort, turned to do it the other arm and received another cry of pain, the scream like Led Zeppelin to the young man's ears. Dean turned again, having accomplished all he could do with the tools in his hand, back to his cart; Allowing the demon the small mercy of a moment to breathe.

"What's the plan here, Dean? Kill me? Show me how much of a man you are as you hide behind a blade? It won't change anything, you still tortured those souls and you liked it." Alistair stated with a weak snide tone to his voice.

Dean swiveled to face the demon, Ruby's knife in his hand, and frowned at his prisoner. "There isn't really much of a plan besides this." He revealed and chuckled. "This was all one big dream before, still in the development stages, but we're all playing with the hands we're dealt."

Dean reached up to Alistair's hair, grabbing a handful at the crown of his head and slowly brought the knife to the skin there; leaving time for the demon to figure out what was coming next.

"Ah!" Alistair screamed, as Dean made the first cut, separating the scalp from his skull.

"This was always one of my favorites," Dean hissed as he continued to slash at the top of Alistair's head. "Even in Hell, people were always the most devastated by the loss of their hair." Dean chuckled and shook his head. "The nerve of some people."

When the chunk of flesh and hair Dean had grabbed was free of the demon's head, Dean tossed into the back of the room and he sauntered back to his trolley.

"You know open wounds can be dangerous, especially ones you can't see." Dean had snatched the jug of holy water and returned to the demon's side, clapping his hand on his shoulder as he shook and gasped in pain. "Trust me; you'll want to clean that."

Dean doused the demon in holy water, soaking him entirely, just to hear him scream and wriggle. Dean sighed.

"Time for the main event," he reported, walking from Alistair, stretching his arms above his head; preparing for what came next. Dean once again grabbed Ruby's knife, drenching it in holy water and sprinkling salt across the blade. The hunter stalked his way back the demon, who was only standing because the chains holding him up.

Dean cut through the buttons holding Alistair's ragged shirt together easily and calmly spread the shirt, uncovering the blood stained chest beneath. Dean observed the barely- there scratches from the machete he'd started with and smirked. He braced his hand on Alistair's shoulder, pushing him back against the iron supporting him, and took a deep breath before beginning.

Dean started in the upper right corner of Alistair's chest and methodically carved a capital D into the collar bone of the demon. Then came an E, then an A and finally an N. The letters marched across the man's right clavicle, the ending side of the N stopping just shy of the hallow of the demon's throat. Leaving a two inch space, Dean resumed his carving, leaving the word W-A-S in his wake. The knife moved to the area just above Alistair's heart and slashed the word H-E-R-E there; the H and E on one pectoral and the R and E on the other. By the end, Alistair was whimpering and just on the edge of hyperventilating. Dean brought his hand to the monster's cheek and gently patted; an almost comforting gesture, before plunging the knife just to the left of Alistair's heart. Dean had sliced right through one of the man's arteries and quickly jerked the knife in a sideways slash, making a big enough hole to fit his hand through. He hurriedly grabbed the wire cutters he'd stashed in his back pocket and clipped his way through the bone blocking his way to the struggling organ it housed.

Dean then cut the fibrous tubes channeling blood to the beating organ and the stopped as he took the muscle from its cavity. The hunter smiled at the demon has he slowly died, the combo of the knife's powers and salt and holy water taking the life from the shell he'd inhibited. Alistair's breathing was slowly, the life leaving his white eyes.

The hunter then forced the demon's mouth open and shoved the vital organ in between his jaw. Dean stood, he hands at his sides, blooding dripping from them and watched with giddy delight as the man that had spent years treating him as the hunter had just treated him, rapidly lost his life. This time, he would not be returning to Hell, honestly, Dean didn't know where Alistair was going and didn't really care. The constant feeling of having unfinished business with this demon had vanished, Dean felt relieved, that small fear that Alistair might drag him back to the pit could finally be put to rest. Dean took one last, long look at the lifeless corpse.

"Eat your heart out, Alistair."

With that, the hunter returned to his cart for the final time. He cleaned Ruby's knife as well as he could with a rag, then wiped what he could of the blood off his hands, only the fresh coming off without soap and water. Dean grabbed his coat from the second shelf and shrugged into it, tucked the magic knife into the waist of his jeans, and then walked to the door, taking the rag with him.

He looked to the left and noticed the light switch. With his bloody hand, he flicked the light off and opened the door, stepping though still wiping at his hands with the cloth, and closing it firmly behind himself. He was greeted with the sight of Castiel, who had worry lines in his fore head, trying to calm a very upset Sam. They both stopped at pinned him with concerned stares.

Sam took in the amount of blood one his older brother's hands and shirt, before searching his face for the emotional toll this stunt the Angels wanted him to pull had cost his brother. Sam just saw a raw anger in his eyes that was quickly cooling and an appeased look on his brother's face. The younger Winchester cleared his throat.

"Well?" Sam asked, in reference the information Dean had been tasked with getting.

Dean looked from both Cas and Sam back to his hands, where he was still softly rubbing the cool, thickening blood from his fingers. He gazed back at the two men he was the closest to in the whole world and replied.

"He didn't know."

Cas seemed disheartened but nodded and Sam still looked at him, worried.

"But, how did it go?" Sam pressed.

"Fine, Sam. It went fine." Dean stated in a tone that clearly said; _this conversation is over, Sam._

Sam nodded his understanding and backed off. Dean turned his attention to Cas.

"Can you zap Sammy home now?"

"What about you?" Sam butted in.

"I'll be right behind you." Sam looked unsure. "I promise." Dean added. Sam nodded and allowed Cas to touch his forehead, transporting him back to the motel.

Cas focused on Dean as he played with the rag in his hands.

"You can't judge me for what happened in there, Cas." Dean informed him, glancing back at the door.

"You wanted me to do this, I told you, you wouldn't like the result."

Nodding his head at his statement, Dean looked at Cas and nodded. Then Dean was gone.


End file.
